


We'll always have Paris

by Dune



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Crack Crossover, Doctor Who References, Gen, Hangover, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy References, Humor, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dune/pseuds/Dune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing your memories is mostly like visiting Paris. You can't just read the guide book, you've got to throw yourself in, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll always have Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my beta xwingace, who wasnt just helpful with corrections and offered much needed adivce but actually made this thing work (and gave it a proper title... and managed to tear my monster sentences into smaller pieces ^^). Youd be the best field researcher for The Guide ever! Thank you!
> 
> * * *

  
The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has the following entry on memory loss:

_Losing your memories is mostly like visiting Paris._

_You can’t just read the guide book, you’ve got to throw yourself in, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers. Also, you usually wake up with the worst hangover this side of the Crab Nebula._

_Now losing your memories in Paris, that’s a totally different tale._

_All users of The Guide should be reminded that this is no relevant entry for Paris sightseeing or getting drunk in Paris. Anyone interested in that should skip to ’seeing 10 famous buildings double, how to’._

_A visit to Paris is always breathtaking. The planet, the city, the leech infested puddle on Ezna 7 with the same name, doesn’t really matter. Any place with the name Paris will do._

_Some say that this is a too big coincidence and thus God must really exist and does indeed, as the old proverbs claim, live in France._

_This is of course a redundant argument in part (see entry ‘babelfish’). Unlike that theory, however, this one provides more areas for research given that it also posits a location for Heaven. Many theodomologians and elysiographers have spent blissfully drunk years investigating the abovementioned Parises for signs of Divine presence. Since there are at least six billion locations carrying the name of Paris in the Galactic Atlas and the number is growing daily, the search may take some time yet. This is not seen as a disadvantage._

_Others whisper that followers of this theory just spend too much time with proverbs and French wine._

_But as wine is indeed a main ingredient to every travel to any of the Parises, it may be one of the reasons why they leave their visitors with a very sore head in the morning._

***

Unlike most tourists, Jack Harkness hadn’t drunk one single drop of alcohol last night, nor had he visited any of the sights (a crime punishable with 2 years in the postcard mines since 2030). Unfortunately he couldn’t remember anything more specific.

When he opened his eyes he was sure that he had forgotten something terribly important, but after deciding which way was up it was more vital to find a toilet than to care for indeterminate gut feelings. There were more urgent matters to deal with, like gut feelings of a far more immediate sort and with a more obvious source.  
A toilet rarely offers any long term solutions, however, and after inspecting the previous night’s mostly harmless food intake more closely Jack was convinced something was very, very wrong.

Had he been feeling his normal self, he would have realised that Paris does this to tourists.

Usually the confusion leads to statements varying from a general “Wha--??!”, through “2pm? Isn’t my flight leaving at 2pm?”, to “Paris? When did I go to Paris?” This last was what Jack uttered while frowning at the beautiful view out of a tiny bathroom window.

This was, of course, a very uncommon statement and it should be noted that Captain Jack Harkness set a new record on the unofficial Richter Scale of hangovers with it.  
He will be disqualified in his absence later because his associates have been cheating, frying his memory centre quite crudely and by no means in a precise and inspiring a manner as a good Chateau Mars would have done.

But back to our vomiting hero.

In the vague hope that a mirror might provide more insight than a toilet bowl, Jack stumbled over to the sink. The man staring back at him looked at least 2 years older than yesterday; more proof that a night in Paris cost at least 3 million brain cells, one layer of skin and 200 EuroFranctm .

Something was indeed very, very wrong.

For several reasons he wished he had never opened his eyes, not least of which was the stabbing headache that suddenly materialized out of nowhere.

Now usually this sort of feeling left -even in Paris- after a few hours and some aspirin, but even so, thinking about what could’ve caused it made Jack’s brain hurt.

While he’d been stumbling back into the bedroom an obligatory miniature Eiffel Tower had nearly pierced Jack’s foot. The scrunched newspaper it had been wrapped into tried to be helpful now, but unfortunately for a man from the 51st century the date it gave made things even worse.

1979\. He could’ve sworn it had been 5053 yesterday.

With a thump he sat down on his bed again, looking even paler than before. If that was at all possible.

His guts revolted at the irony that he had obviously been losing years _backwards in time_ , but neither the toilet nor his stomach contents had offered any solid clues as to why.

Now that there wasn’t anything left inside him to be inspected anymore, Jack’s rational thought kicked in. It was quite dusty and inexperienced, having been rarely used in comparison to thinking with other anatomical features, but after his instincts had failed him he was willing to listen to reason. He was clearly desperate.

The best he could come up with was to check the relative time chronometer thankfully still attached to his wrist. Then, as the relative date flashed in front of him he decided to stare a while at the statement that he had just lost 2 years of his life. As well as his time ship. His stomach was strangely quiet, silently filling with cold anger when the computer verified that the removal had been sanctioned by his superiors. But maybe it was just tired after all the action it already had this morning.

After circling between the five stages of grief several times — feeling betrayed was not something he was used to deal with — and destroying most of the furniture (insert several curses about his -now former- colleagues here) he felt a bit like himself again. As much as a Harkness stuck on a prehistoric Earth could. His heart ached when he thought of his rather pretty time ship.

These were practically the Dark Ages for a man like him. He’d have to live through the Eighties! The hair, the clothes, the _dancing_... he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Couldn’t they at least have dropped him somewhere _cultured_ , like two decades earlier? Hell, even the nineteen forties would have done; at least there was some action to be had then.

His stomach growled, and he decided to make the best of it until his guts were fit enough to make decisions again.

Eat some food, drink some wine, jump off the Eiffel Tower. In that order it seemed like a plan, although he knew full well the Sonic Net around the structure wouldn’t be installed for at least another 200 years.

***

The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has the following to say about the Eiffel Tower:

_The Eiffel Tower (also see ‘’seeing 10 famous buildings double, how to’) is a marvellous structure and should not be missed when in Paris (France, Earth, Sol)._

_Although it has been stolen, miniaturized, shot at and eaten by various evil geniuses in their bid for World Domination over the years, it has always been rebuilt, usually by other evil geniuses who had nothing better to do after achieving World Domination._

_The Eiffel Tower is also a perfect example that problems tend to shrink once looked upon from above, as long as it isn’t a 300m high reptile that’s bugging you._

_All visitors from Alpha Centauri are reminded that biting off chunks of the structure will be heavily fined._

_All visitors from Earth are reminded that the Sonic Net (installed in 2245 for your safety and convenience) will return any saliva used in attempts to spit from the top floor right into its owner’s face._

_All visitors from Sirius 8 are reminded that this is not, in fact, the Eyfel Tower (see relevant entry), and that urinating at the base is severely frowned upon and will result in immediate removal of visiting privileges._

***

Some hours later, but still stuck in time, Jack sighed, trying to ignore the obnoxious tourists crowding the Eiffel Tower’s highest observation deck. No matter what the Guide had said, from up here his problems didn’t seem even one inch smaller than down there in that shady hotel room he’d woken up in.

Deep in thought, he didn’t notice the two strangers who suddenly appeared on either side of him, casually leaning against the railing.

“Did you notice there’s an invisible space ship tethered to the Eiffel Tower?” The upper class English accent amidst the French chattering caught him by surprise, and he turned to look at the source. Instead of acknowledging his frown the blonde girl stared into the air, one hand preventing her straw hat from flying off in the rather cold breeze.

He blinked. “There is?” Jack asked, but he was ignored. Instead, someone else answered the girl’s question.

“First rule of active camouflage: Park somewhere you’ll remember. Always assuming a lack of outside interference, of course.”

That came from his other side, the deep voice laced with humour. Jack twisted around to find a matching smile directed at him. The technicolor scarf around the girl’s companion made him wish for a bathroom again, though. Unlike the girl and her straw hat, the man didn’t seem to mind that the scarf was happily flapping in the wind, making Jack wonder how long it would take to strangle its wearer.

“I think it’s yours.” The girl now said to Jack, voice low as if she were telling him a secret.  
Jack wasn’t sure if the tip of the Tower was swaying or if that were his knees. And what had happened to the girl’s face there for an instant? ”I can’t quite remem--“

She shushed him and reached into his jacket pocket to produce a teleport key he hadn’t known he had. Hadn’t noticed while he’d put on this jacket, either. His guts made a leap. A good one for a change. The amount of technology stuffed into the key suggested Time Engines. A ticket out of here.

He stared into the clear blue sky, ludicrously hoping for a hint of the perfectly hidden ship. On any other day he would’ve bet on a sad joke, but these two seemed a bit too cavalier to be winding him up. Conmen seemed so grave all the time.

“Does your girlfriend know she looks like a broken clock?”

This was, of course, a very indecent and silly thing to say in such a situation, but hangovers and massive time disturbances did that sort of thing to a human mind.

The male of the duo nodded. “Got a sketch of it. It’s very pretty.” There was a snort from the girl, but the man ignored it. “Now go on, can’t keep that ship floating there until they develop the means to detect it. It’ll have gone all rusty by then.” The grin behind the ludicrously long scarf couldn’t possibly show any more teeth than that.

“Well… uh, thanks.”

Dazed, Jack turned away to find a quiet corner to teleport, but delicate fingers closed around his wrist, keeping him just a while longer.

“Where will you go?” the question surprised him, but he saw genuine interest in the girl’s eyes, eyes that felt far too old for someone as young as her.

A sense of eternity and loneliness made him shudder, “I-...I don’t know.” The strangers seemed quite pleased with that answer.

He gave the girl a quick kiss (because it was all he had to offer as thanks) and ran off, just in case they changed their minds. He turned to make sure he wasn’t followed, but the strangers had vanished.

That was suspicious. He made a mental note to check for any kind of bomb or exotic malfunction once well clear of this era. Strangers didn’t just drop a time ship into one’s lap unless there was something wrong with it. Why else would they do it? Pity? Compassion? He heard of those, but had never encountered them and wasn’t sure if he’d recognize them if they hit him in the face.

A short teleport later and he had his very own time ship. A pretty good one, too, without bombs, self destruct in progress or any other kind of flaw. On the contrary, it was Chula, if he guessed correctly, which was just the ship for a day like the one he’d lived through today. Here he’d thought the Chula had died out with their cousins the Jagaroth so long ago nobody cared anymore. Obviously he’d been misinformed.

Before he jumped time tracks back to 5055 he was sure he could see the girl and her companion running off down the Champ de Mars, hand in hand and waving goodbye.

***

The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, 556th revised edition, carries this entry on Time Travel:

_Time, according to some, is an illusion; any specific time doubly so. It is certainly more easily travelled in than most people ever expected (for exceptions to this, see ‘The Doctor, companions of’ and ‘Dent, Arthur’)._

_The discovery of Time travel resulted in a positive explosion of temporal violations when people started popping back in time so they could be home in time for dinner. The subsequent confusion was never cleared up entirely, but the formation of the Time Agency out of the remnants of the Torchwood Institute has at least helped circumvent complete disaster in the form of a paradox implosion._

_But time is still an illusion to people’s minds. The brain, even in linear time, has the stunning ability to remember things entirely wrong. Memories are altered on purpose, others are remembered until they’re completely unrecognizable. This curious ability has been tremendously helpful in clearing up any remaining paradoxes, as people simply forget about them._

_The reasons for this self-induced delusion of the mind is not entirely understood yet, but scientists presume it has something to do with French wine and heaven. At least so the neuroscientists claim when they’re caught at an elysiographer’s party again._

_The positive effects are observed quite easily. Telling that one has, for example, stolen a Chula war ship isn’t just more convincing than the tale of two strangers handing over the keys, it also implies the new owner of the ship is handsomely dangerous and will not just give his ride to a leech infested Eznan space pirate._   
_Add a little witty dialogue like “Be back in five minutes” (also see ‘100 jokes about time travel’) and soon even the creator of the little lie will believe in this version. That way, reality becomes far more interesting._

_Scarily this way of changing the timeline is often much more effective than going into all the trouble with a time machine (also see ’10 ways to embarrass a historian’)._

_Travellers wishing to make contact with an as yet undiscovered planet or time are reminded to keep hard evidence of their existence with them at all times; alien species have been known to be explained away on a regular basis._

***

3076 years, 2 parsecs and one Tequila drinking contest later Jack remembered that he never asked for the two stranger’s names.


End file.
